


A Chance, Nothing More

by River_of_Dreams



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU from end of S9, An Angel Featuring as an Incubator, Canon-levels of Destiel, Cas has a cameo, Co-Parenting, Fostering/Adoption, I don't write much else after all, M/M, Premature Babies, Relationship Negotiation, Some Fluff, Some Level of Grossness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-03-01 14:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18802555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/River_of_Dreams/pseuds/River_of_Dreams
Summary: The thing about hunts is, you can't save everybody. Sometimes, an angel's presence will make things less tragic... but also much more complicated.Gadreel comes away from a hunt with a premature baby's life in his hands.The Winchesters cope as best they can.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Working title: Gadreel, that’s [not a squirrel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3507656)!  
> Seriously, if you want a fluffy kid fic, this one isn’t it (though your mileage may vary).  
> On the other hand, I’m handwaving the Mark so hard I must look like a windmill. I’m sick and tired of writing Dean under its influence. Just assume he got rid of it somehow at the end of S9 and everything is fine.  
> As fine as it can be, anyway.
> 
> As for rating and warnings, it’s isn't worth the “graphic depictions of violence“ tag (I hope), but it might be bordering on it at the beginning. There’s definitely some medical nastiness around getting the baby. And there’s some profane language. I think that’s all?

They got the werewolf before she made it to the other side of the homeless colony, the bright full moon above illuminating the mess of tents, cardboard boxes, barrels, portable stoves and garbage just enough for them to give chase and get a clear shot.

They circled back slowly after the kill, fairly sure nobody there would call the police on them, even though they just put a bullet in something that now, in death, appeared human again. This wasn’t the first time the werewolf hunted there, but these people had nowhere to go and nobody to trust.

Pity they came in too late for the last victim, arriving only when the beast had already started feeding.

The faint hope Sam held onto dissipated at the sight of Gadreel kneeling over the girl’s body, sprawled and motionless on the ground the same as they found her. Gadreel recovered a great deal since the day Cas had dragged him more than half dead into the Bunker, not trusting his siblings with him, but his healing abilities were still spotty. Too spotty to heal a case of a missing heart, obviously.

“No good?“ Dean asked anyway, his tone deliberately nonchalant even though the question was anything but.

“She refused to come back. I’ve learned my lesson,“ Gadreel replied. It’s been months under the same roof, a few weeks even hunting together, and Sam still couldn’t read him worth a damn, or at least not by voice alone. There was strain in it, though, as if maybe the angel was dealing with the same guilt Sam was-

Gadreel shifted. That was when Sam realized he wasn’t hunched over because he was miserable, but because he was holding something in his palms. Something moving, weakly and jerkily like a spasming heart, streaked with wet black in the moonlight: blood. It took a moment for the shape to resolve itself, but when it did, Sam rocked back on his heels.

“Is that a living fetus?“

Next to him, Dean drew his gun and pointed it at the angel.

“What the hell are you doing, Gadreel?“

“She refused to come back,“ Gadreel repeated, too occupied to acknowledge the weapon. “But he wasn’t ready to leave yet.“

There was a crater in the girl’s body where her heart had been, and another in her stomach. Sam barely resisted drawing his own weapon.

“How old is he?“

“About thirty weeks along, I think,“ Gadreel supplied. Not nearly enough, going by the boy’s size.

Sam had been through a lot, but watching a tiny, helpless baby – a fetus – a _baby_ desperately gasp for breath in the chill air was its own kind of Hell. How fast could an ambulance get here? And could they escape if they called it?

“Gadreel, you aren’t an incubator!“ Dean’s voice broke at the end. He wasn’t lowering the gun.

“An incubator wouldn’t help, his lungs aren’t developed enough yet. I have a chance, so I must-“ Sam was pretty sure the baby was getting hypothermia on top of hypoxia, held out in the open like that, but he couldn’t bring himself to protest. This wasn’t angelic healing, the baby wasn’t injured, the baby was out of its environment like a fish on dry land, struggling just as much and just as hopelessly. It wasn’t crying. No breath left for that.

“Help me,“ Gadreel said. It sounded like a command rather than a plea, but his voice had a dull, faraway, hollow note to it as if it came out of a well. He looked up at Dean. The glow of grace in his eyes was faint but unmistakable. Then it flickered like an old lightbulb, shone a little brighter, steadied.

Sam’s stomach clenched. Gadreel didn’t use healing nowadays unless as the last resort, because while his power was coming back, his control lagged behind. He was still shredded inside, at least according to Cas. Stitching himself back piece by piece and not entirely stable.

“Are you going to survive this?“

Gadreel’s gaze cut to him, disconcerting.

“Yes.“

“Is the baby going to-“ Be alright. Survive as anything other than a vegetable. Any number of things could happen if a brain didn’t get enough oxygen, none of them pretty.

“Is he going to pull through?“ Dean took over the question, gun finally lowered.

“I don’t know, but I must try. Please. Help.“

“Help how?“ Dean was as unnerved as Sam was, but he kept it together better, gun back behind the waistband of his jeans.

“Need to focus. Anything-“ And Sam realized that the bit about underdeveloped lungs had been the last coherent sentence they might get out of the angel for a good long while. Dean did, too, because he squared his shoulders.

“Fine. Let’s get you comfortable. Can you walk?“

Gadreel didn’t respond at first. He was spiraling out of touch with reality, fast.

“Help me up.“

They did, careful not to make him drop the baby as they hauled him up by his arms, and then led him between them like a blindfolded prisoner. He went willingly, relying on them to steer him clear of any obstacles. He finally hugged the baby to his chest where it was fractionally less cold, two hands big enough to cocoon it in.

They managed to get him to the Impala without incident. The baby went quiet in the meantime, though it was still squirming feebly. Sam hasn’t prayed in almost a year, ever since he ejected Gadreel from his body, but he thought he might dare for this, the horror of it filling him to bursting, a burden too huge not to share. Except he had no idea whether to pray for the baby’s swift and merciful passing, or survival.

They maneuvered Gadreel into the backseat of the Impala as best they could with him barely responding. He ended up leaning awkwardly half on the backrest and half against the door in a position that couldn’t be comfortable even for an angel, but he didn’t complain.

“Skin to skin,“ he managed.

His jacket was already unzipped and out of the way, small mercies. Sam pushed his hoodie and t-shirt up, exposing his stomach, then paused while Gadreel shifted his hands on the baby, trying and failing to figure out how to move him safely, crammed into a corner as he was.

They exchanged looks. Gadreel’s eyes were too focused, the glimmer of grace in them almost invisible. The baby’s breathing grew labored again.

“Lift him.“

Sam balked.

“I don’t know how.“

“One hand under his chest.“

“And the other to support his head, right?“

“You don’t need to when he’s facedown.“

“Right.“

Sam’s hands didn’t shake when he handled the Colt, capable of killing almost anything. He could examine a mauled corpse without flinching. But they did shake now, when he scooped the baby up and it let out a small whimper, and he cringed at the sticky blood and the slick remnant of the umbilical cord that by all rights should have been still attached to its mother’s body. But that body was dead and if it wasn’t for Gadreel, the baby would have suffocated inside it. Suddenly its desperate gasps didn’t seem like pointless cruelty but like a fighting chance. If the little boy had it in him to protest clumsy handling, he had it in him to fight for his life, too.

He set him on Gadreel’s bare stomach, the angel’s skin unusually hot to the touch as if he ran a fever. Sam guessed it was easier for him to control his vessel’s temperature than the baby’s. He wasn’t going to ask.

“Thank you,“ Gadreel said quietly, warm hands already cradling the boy so that only the top of his head and a pointy bottom and two tiny feet were visible. Did they sell preemie diapers in regular shopping malls?

Dean twisted in the driver’s seat to check on them.

“Cover his head. Babies get cold when you don’t do that.“

Sam considered the scene in front of him. Then he shrugged off his own jacket, unbuttoned his plaid shirt and took it off, too, tucked it all around the baby and Gadreel’s hands, leaving only its face free. Lack of diapers be damned.

Dean nodded and started the engine, turning up the heat while Sam closed the door on Gadreel and slipped into his own customary place.

“Motel or the Bunker?“

Sam waited for Gadreel to make the call, but the backseat was silent. A quick glance confirmed the angel has already checked out, grace glowing steady in half-lidded eyes. The baby was – Sam forbade himself from suspecting dead – resting.

“The Bunker, I think. But we need to stop for diapers and formula first.“

“Yeah, I know. Pity you can’t get that shit in an army shop. Would be cheaper.“

Dean put the Impala in gear and guided her smoothly back the way they came, wheels pressing gravel into mud until they reached an asphalt road. Then he let the car climb to comfortable sixty, leaving behind one cleanly killed werewolf and a messy victim Sam did his best not to think about.

 

They left Gadreel in his room in a nest of pillows and blankets, a glass of water he hopefully wouldn’t need at the bedside table. He didn’t resurface enough to ask them for anything else. The baby fell asleep on his belly, outfitted with a diaper he was only slightly drowning in and swaddled in a clean shirt. Dean was going to wash some blankets for him in a hypoallergenic detergent he’d bought, but for now, regular clothes had to do.

Sam made a beeline for the library on autopilot, even though the Men of Letters probably didn’t have any books for the kind of research he needed to do.

“We should find out who the victim was,“ Dean said. “That kid has a family somewhere.“

“Or not, if they threw the girl out for being pregnant.“

“Or she ran away from home,“ Dean countered with a pointed stare.

Sam huffed and glanced away.

“Fine. I’ll look into it.“

It was barely morning, there wouldn’t be any police reports yet he could hack into. Plenty of time to research the rest of it. Gadreel seemed to have the hang of the boy’s breathing, but they still needed to feed him somehow. Sam suspected it wouldn’t be as easy as giving him a bottle. He just hoped an IV wouldn’t be the only solution.

“Good.“

 

Some indeterminate time later, a sandwich on a plate appeared at his elbow. Then it knocked into his elbow. Sam resurfaced from a detailed description of how to insert a feeding tube with a flinch he couldn’t hide and finally realized he was supposed to eat. Dean was still hovering, which meant he’d ignored it for far too long.

“Thanks.“

To show good will, he took the first bite without immediately starting to read again, or adding another scribbled item to the growing list of supplies they needed to buy.

“You think Gadreel needs to eat, now?“

Sam shrugged, chewed some more, swallowed. Gadreel had drunk, eaten, and slept like a regular human being for weeks after Cas had brought him in, but there was no telling if caring for the baby took enough of a toll on him to make him relapse.

“Don’t know. We should ask him.“

Dean hovered some more instead of a reply, and Sam suppressed a sigh. Neither of them particularly liked talking to the angel outside hunts, but Dean outright refused to be alone with him if he could help it.

“I’ll go ask him,“ he amended.

“There’s another sandwich on the counter. Just in case. If he doesn’t want it, bring it back.“

“Sure.“

 

A handful of minutes later, Sam knocked on a certain nondescript door in a row of other nondescript doors, not sure if Gadreel would have enough presence of mind to answer. The calm and steady “Come in!“ came as a pleasant surprise.

Gadreel was lying against his small mountain of pillows, looking more focused and peaceful than Sam has ever seen him. Both his hands vanished under the bundle of soft plaid on his stomach. Over his wrist, a curve of a tiny red face was visible, scrunched even in sleep. There was still blood on it. Perhaps Sam should have paid more attention to how to bathe the baby rather than to how to feed him.

The boy was entirely still, no longer gasping for every breath, and Sam froze in the door.

“How are you doing?“ he asked cautiously, unwilling to voice the real question.

“Better, I think.“

The glance Gadreel cast at the bundle was fond and soft, the kind that pregnant women always wore in ads but rarely in real life, at least in public. It occured to Sam that this is the closest he’ll ever get to seeing a man pregnant. He shook away the odd thought.

“He wants for nothing right now. I keep him healthy and suffused with grace enough that he doesn’t need to breathe any more than he’s able. However, that also means he barely grows.“ The bundle shifted; probably a caress rather than any movement from the baby. Gadreel’s expression morphed into something faintly bitter – or maybe simply pensive, who knew with him. “I’ve never realized how powerless we are. I can prevent his organs from shutting down, his veins from rupturing. I can keep him as he is. To an extent, I can heal him so he becomes what he was supposed to be at this age. I can’t take him any further. Only God creates life. We merely preserve it. Or destroy.“

Sam stood there, caught off guard by the angel’s sudden openness. He was used to silences and short answers from him. He was also used to Cas, who never got philosophical on them.

It would have been nice, if it wasn’t Gadreel and if there wasn’t a premature baby at stake.

Sam stepped into the room and put the plate on the nightstand. The glass of water he’d left there earlier was only half full, he noted, so probably the sandwich would come in handy, too.

“What does it mean for him?“

“At this rate, it will take him a week to age a single day. It will be better once he’s stronger.“

Sam’s hands clenched. He forced them open.

“This much grace. Is it going to change him?“

There was a tiny delay before Gadreel’s clear gaze landed on him.

“I don’t know.“

Sam’s stomach churned.

Gadreel didn’t try to add anything more. Sam could appreciate that if nothing else. As far as he could tell, the angel, when he talked at all, had been unfailingly, doggedly honest with them ever since he and Dean agreed to take him in. He’d never really apologized for what he did to them, but he didn’t make excuses, either. It did more to convince Sam of his repentance than any direct apology could.

Which didn’t mean he liked what Gadreel had to say.

“You said he wouldn’t survive in an incubator.“

“He wouldn’t.“

“How do you know? If he really was thirty weeks along, that gives him very good chances.“ It was one of the first things Sam had researched. “They could put him on a ventilator, or just give him more oxygen.“

“It’s not just breathing. He’s small and weak for his age. His mother didn’t eat properly, not even while she still could. I’m repairing the worst of the damage now. I hope I’ll be able to heal him fully as he grows.“

Sam shifted his weight, uneasy with the reminder of the girl they didn’t save. Couldn’t have saved from everything going on in her life, apparently, even if they had gotten to the werewolf in time.

“Did she do drugs?“

“No.”

The baby squirmed, let out a squeak, then settled again somewhat, face scrunched up even more than before.

“She didn’t love him,“ Gadreel said, his tone faraway, his focus back on the boy. “On the worst days, she fantasized about leaving him dismembered for her stepfather to find. The child paying for the sins of the father, the only kind of retribution she thought she might get.“

Sam flinched, his knuckles going white with useless anger. He wasn’t going to give in to it. Not here, not in front of Gadreel.

“And on her best days?“

“She daydreamed about getting a small apartment, keeping him. She hoped that once she’d see him, once she’d hold him, he’d become hers instead of his father’s. She wanted to love him. She wanted to give him the childhood she never had.“ The whole bundle moved as he caressed the baby again, and this time the baby seemed to arch into it. Gadreel met Sam’s eyes. “She was like me.“

Sam frowned.

“Like you how?“

“She knew what was right. She wanted it, but it seemed so far out of her reach she never did anything to make it possible. Instead she found herself ready to lash out at those who didn’t deserve it. Choosing to become evil rather than stay powerless.“

Sam swallowed. Gravity wasn’t working quite right; he felt at the same time too light and as if he was falling.

“She probably would have chosen the middle ground in the end,“ he pointed out. “She’d leave him at a hospital, give him up for adoption.“

“Yes. It makes me wonder if there ever was a middle ground I should have chosen but failed to see.“

And Sam wanted to summon the fury, the _You should have let me die to begin with_ , but it wouldn’t come. He didn’t want to be dead, not anymore. More often than not, he was even grateful to be alive, and that smarted more than the violation itself. Taking the choice away from him, and everything that stemmed from it, that was on Gadreel and Dean. But being glad it happened, that was on him, and it made him feel as if he betrayed himself.

Himself and Kevin.

“Dean sends you a sandwich,“ he bit out, refusing to continue the conversation. “We weren’t sure if you need to eat, since you’re spending so much grace on the kid.“

“Thank you.“

Sam did his best to ignore Gadreel’s palpable disappointment. As much as his mind attacked itself when it came to the angel, he still knew he doesn’t owe him anything.

“I can let him struggle more,“ Gadreel said. It sounded like a peace offering, a reluctant one. “He will grow faster if I do that. My grace will affect him less. But his body is already used to never getting enough to build itself. There is damage from it that I’m not sure I’ll be able to counter. The terror of suffocation runs deeper, even if he will outgrow it. Sam, I know how much you hate the notion of being changed by something inhuman, but I don’t see how letting him suffer is anything but cruel when I can stop it.“

The worst part was, Gadreel wasn’t defiant. He was confused, pleading for Sam to explain, because he’d done what he thought was right once before, and it turned out horribly wrong. He honestly couldn’t tell the difference and it made Sam furious, though not necessarily with him.

“I was an adult. I could decide for myself. He can’t.“

“Not true. That he wants simpler things doesn’t make him unable to decide. He wants comfort. That means warmth, food, air, the lack of pain, and somebody’s presence. I can give him all that, easily. Why shouldn’t I?“

“He can’t make a decision when he doesn’t understand the consequences. If he grows up changed and wishes to be normal instead, you won’t be able to give it to him anymore.“

“I don’t see into the future. How am I supposed to predict what his wishes will be? And if his opinion is different in thirty years than in fifteen, which one should I respect? Whichever I choose for him, he won’t even know what the alternative would be like, not truly.“

Sam pressed his lips together.

“We’ll figure something out. Rig up an oxygen tent, maybe. Anything that will let you use less grace on him. Do you think he’s up to feeding from a bottle?“

It took Gadreel a while to answer. Going by his stillness, Sam suspected he was checking the state of the boy’s reflexes.

“Might be. If we’re careful, we can try it.“

“Bathe him, too.“

“Possibly. Though there won’t be any infection, I’ll see to that.“

Sam shrugged.

“It has to itch if nothing else.“

Gadreel considered it, then inclined his head.

“Yes. I’d prefer he gets some food first, though.“

It was a relief to turn to practical matters, instead of the questions Gadreel had raised.

“I’ll go prepare a bottle.“

 

“Jane Doe, aged between fifteen and twenty.“

Sam leaned away from his laptop as if he could physically keep the information at bay, even as he recited it to Dean. Normally he was quite good at distancing himself from victims they couldn’t save anymore, but something about this case got under his skin.

“Apparently she’d called herself Eileen, but nobody knows if it was her real name. No surname. No match in missing persons’ database.“

“So. Eileen Doe, then,“ Dean remarked, leaning against the opposite table with a spoon of peanut butter hanging from his lips.

“I guess. Not sure it matters, though. According to Gadreel, having the kid grow up with her family was the last thing she wanted for him. For good reasons.”

“What good reasons?“

Sam grimaced.

“Looks like her stepdad was the father.“

Dean pulled the spoon out of his mouth as if his treat went suddenly sour.

“People, man.“

Sam could only nod. He realized what sat so wrong with him about the case. This Eileen had been dealt shitty cards in life, and she never got out. Not that there was a good time to be mauled by a werewolf, but she probably didn’t even know or remember what it felt like to be safe or happy. Perhaps the worst was, had she known her baby would survive and they would do their level best to figure out how to give him the best chance at a good life, it wouldn’t have been a comfort. He couldn’t pretend there’s anything he can do for her, even posthumously. The baby had been unwanted, a part of the problem. He didn’t know why she didn’t abort, but it wasn’t out of love.

It was time to move on. Eileen was a lost cause. Her boy wasn’t.

“Anything on the baby?“ Dean asked.

“Yeah. According to the report, the size of the placenta corresponded to a fetus that couldn’t survive outside the womb, at least not without immediate medical intervention. In other words, if they are looking, they’re looking for a body.“

“Good for us.“

“I’d still go outside Kansas to drop him off at a hospital when we can.“

“You talked to Gadreel about this?“

“Not yet. It’s too soon anyway. We can’t do it until he can survive a few minutes on his own without a problem. I think Gadreel will want to bring him to term, more or less, so that he’s sure he’ll be okay. That can take months, at the speed he’s going.“

Dean hmmed and licked the microscopic remnants of peanut butter off his spoon.

“I think Gadreel will want to keep him.“

Sam’s eyebrows shot up.

“He’s taking this guardian angel thing very seriously,“ Dean continued. “Hard to guard the tyke if you don’t know where he’s growing up.“

“You talked to him?“

Dean shrugged the question off as if it was no big deal. Sam decided not to call him out on it.

“We can’t raise a kid.“

“Who said anything about a ‘we’?“

“Seriously, Dean? You’d leave a child with him?“

Dean dropped the hand still clutching the spoon to the edge of the table, finally sobering up.

“Gadreel also said he could get powers from being kept alive with Gadreel’s grace. Psychic or something.“

“We’re trying to prevent that. If he eats enough on his own, if we get him extra oxygen-“

“Not the point,“ Dean steamrolled over him. “Could be, it happened already. He grows up, gets freak powers. What then?“

Sam’s jaw worked, but he found he had nothing to say. A few ideas, but he could come up with counter-arguments to them himself, no need to voice them to have them shut down.

“We can’t raise a kid, Dean,“ he repeated a little desperately. “What do you want to do when he reaches school age? Homeschool him? Do you want to isolate him from anything and anyone normal? Fine, maybe Gadreel’s grace did something to him already. But you don’t want him to become a monster when he finds out what he can do? Give him a normal family to keep him sane.“

The muscles in Dean’s jaw jumped as if he was chewing on something, but no words came out. Sam found something else to look at and shook his head while he was at it.

“Let’s not get into it now, okay? I’ll make sure we’re on the same page with Gadreel. If not, we can figure something out.“

“Okay,“ Dean agreed and pushed himself off the table. Sam allowed himself to let out a breath as he watched his retreating back. Too soon: Dean turned to him at the doorway.

“You know what? I’m with you. Kid shouldn’t grow up here. But about the monster thing? I don’t think we did such a bad job with you. Maybe you don’t need so much normal. Just a family.“

He didn’t wait for Sam’s reaction.

Sam was grateful for that if nothing else.

 

“Hey,“ Sam greeted softly. In vain, as he quickly realized, because the baby was already mewling and squirming. This time, Gadreel had him resting back to chest, big hands keeping him balled up as if he was still in the womb. One tiny fist escaped the hold and was flailing empathetically, as if the sounds weren’t enough to make the adults _do something already, dammit._ Sam shook the bottle in his hand once more, just in case there was any chance the formula hasn’t dissolved yet.

After a moment’s hesitation, Gadreel just nodded instead of voicing a greeting of his own and arranged the baby for feeding. It took only seconds, but it was enough for the newborn to work up to a proper wail. He was so upset, in fact, that even though Gadreel was already teasing around his mouth with the teat, he gave a few more cries before he realized the food had arrived. Then he latched on with all the determination his carers could wish for and went from desperate anguish to blissful fascination with his meal in an instant.

It had taken them a few tries before Gadreel sorted through the boy’s immature reflexes and figured out how to assist him in sucking, swallowing and breathing in proper turns, but he had it down by now. The knowledge that the happy suckling wasn’t quite the boy’s own effort made Sam’s skin crawl, but even he had to admit they had little choice. It turned out all their options to supply extra oxygen were too expensive, not medically safe, or involved theft from an actual hospital, so neither Winchester fought too hard when Gadreel shot them down. That left food and warmth. It was this or a feeding tube none of them knew how to insert and would hate to have to try on someone so fragile.

And Gadreel let the boy get upset first.

The thought gave Sam pause.

It was definitely within Gadreel’s powers to keep the baby unnaturally peaceful, to meet all his needs before he even began to voice them or even switch off his discontent when they had to wait. That he let him cry, even at a moment when it was so perfectly useless it was ridiculous, did more to convince Sam Gadreel had indeed learned his lesson than any big decision could.

The baby fell asleep on the teat, because of course he did even though he shouldn’t. There was still about a teaspoon of formula left, but Gadreel handed it over to Sam without protest. There was no use trying to burp a sleeping baby, so he just arranged the boy to curl up on his stomach again.

“How is he doing?“ Sam asked, quiet by instinct even though they have found out fairly quickly that sounds rarely disturbed the infant once he was out for the count. It was another thing Sam had thought Gadreel arranged for, until he saw it mentioned as perfectly normal for newborns.

“Better. He’s getting stronger.“ Gadreel stroked a gentle finger over the boy’s fuzzy head. “I still don’t know whether there would be any effect of my grace on him.“

As if it was the only thing that mattered to Sam. But then, he didn’t give Gadreel any reason to think it wasn’t. Sam shifted, suddenly uneasy in his own skin.

“Have you thought about a name for him?“

Gadreel shook his head.

“All Enochian names I know are angelic. They are unique to each angel and always have something to do with the angel’s role. It’s not something I dare to presume for a human being.“

Sam shrugged.

“He probably should get a human name anyway.“

“Most of them carry more weight than you know.“

Sam fiddled with the bottle, hesitating. Then he perched at the edge of the bed by Gadreel’s legs, uncertain of his welcome. He probably should have asked. Gadreel just watched him, giving nothing away behind his usual polite facade.

“I think that if either Dean or I had a son, we’d name him Bobby.“

Gadreel’s eyes slightly widened. Sam hoped he wasn’t reading into it more than it was.

“We aren’t going to, obviously, so.“ He glanced at the bundle of a baby on Gadreel’s chest, because it was simpler than to meet Gadreel’s gaze. “I know it’s temporary, but he should have a name.“

Because every person should have a name. Not that the boy was much of one, running mostly on blind instinct and Gadreel’s support as he was, but he was indisputably human. It seemed important to give him something more than the basic human decency of shelter and food. Bobby’s name was about the most valuable gift Sam could think of, considering there was little else he could do for him.

“The name of a good man. I can see how that matters to you more than the name’s origin.“

Sam shrugged. “You don’t have to use it. But you should figure out something.“

“No, Robert is fine. Bobby.“

“Good.“ It occured to Sam that Dean will possibly kill him. Or have weird questions. It was still better than letting the baby stay nameless as if he was a rescue fox kit about to be released back into the wild and forgotten.

He was never going to be forgotten. Sam could see it with a sudden clarity. It’s been only days and he was already hooked. In a couple of months, it will be excruciating to give him up, and impossible to stop wondering what became of him.

Maybe they could ask Charlie to hack his adoption records, check on him every once in a while. It would hardly help with the issue of powers, unless they become strong or uncontrollable enough to show whether the boy wants them to or not. But they could make sure he’s safe and happy. It raised the obvious question of what they’d do if they find out he’s not, but it would be a start.

They were so screwed. Or at least Sam was. Possibly, going by the tenderness with which he treated the baby, so was Gadreel.

Sam raised the mostly empty bottle.

“Let me know when you need another.“

“Of course.“

Sam fled.

 

“You named him Bobby.“

It was right the next morning – how did Dean learn about it so quickly? Sam cringed, careful to play it off as a shrug.

“Not like we’d use the name for anyone else.“

Dean’s brows drew together, even though his voice stayed a good approximation of casual.

“You still put out about that?“

Sam allowed himself only the briefest hesitation. Dean would latch onto anything more and think- Sam didn’t want to guess what he’d think, besides the fact it would be nothing flattering.

“No. This is fine.“

It came as a mild surprise that it wasn’t even a lie. He met Dean’s gaze.

“I’m fine. We’re doing good.“

What came as a greater surprise, it wasn’t true despite Gadreel living there with them in the Bunker, but because of him. His presence used to be jarring, like a loose tooth that might and might not contain cyanide. Sam hadn’t noticed when it had become stabilizing instead. They were like an old married couple, he and Dean. They’d die for each other in a heartbeat, but outside life-and-death situations, they had little to say to each other besides whose turn it is to go buy food. Or perhaps they had too much to say but didn’t dare, because any attempt ended in an argument more often than not.

It was nice to have someone to occupy their attention outside hunts. Nicer now that it came with the steady routine of make formula – sterilize bottle – check supplies. Once this was over, maybe they should revisit the idea of getting a dog. They could give Gadreel the dog-sitting duties whenever they need to go on a hunt, if they decide to trust him enough to leave him alone in their base.

Dean was still watching him, waiting for a catch. As far as Sam was concerned, a catch wasn’t coming.

“Huh. Okay. Good.“

Dean’s shoulders actually came down a good bit, the line of them loose for once and almost comfortable, the way it used to be. God, Sam missed the fearless, self-assured version of Dean he grew up with, even if it had been a mask. A mask was better than the grim bitterness of a man who came into most conversations rigid as if he expected a blow he cannot dodge.

Speaking of dodging.

“Hey,“ Sam said, aiming for casual and hopefully not missing too badly, and dug out a smile. “Wanna spar sometime?“

They haven’t since the mess with the Blade.

Dean briefly looked incredulous, but then he perked up further, even gave his trademark lopsided grin.

“What, you miss having your ass kicked?“

Sam snorted.

“You wish.“

Dean’s grin brightened.

“You’re on.“

It had been just a momentary idea, but Sam found himself caught, the combative spark in Dean’s eyes contagious. He drained the rest of his coffee in one long gulp and unfolded himself from the table.

“Gonna get changed. See you in five.“

 

It took two people to bathe Bobby. Gadreel had gotten the hang of changing him by himself after a few days, much to Sam’s joy, but bathing took longer and took more out of Gadreel, so he had to focus on keeping Bobby’s temperature and breathing in order while Sam washed him.

There was barely enough baby to cover with four adult hands, so it led to more touching than Sam had thought he’d ever allow the angel. This wasn’t about him, however, so he just gritted his teeth and bore it the first time. The second time it was easier, the same way hunts had been easier than talking to Gadreel in the Bunker. The third time, more than two weeks in, he was so used to working with Gadreel for Bobby’s sake that he hardly noticed anymore, passing the infant’s weight back and forth as needed and ending up with a squirmy bundle of a baby in a warmed towel in his arms. Gadreel moved to his bed and reached for Bobby without rush while Bobby let out a meep and quieted, breathing shallow and fast but keeping good color for now.

Last two bathings, Gadreel had kept him sleepy, nearly in stasis. Not anymore. They might risk leaving Bobby unattended for a few minutes sooner than Sam had thought.

He would expect to feel relief at the revelation.

He didn’t.

There was something profoundly wrong about giving a baby up after letting him drag them into his orbit. After caring for him, feeding him, keeping him close, every touch a promise about to be broken by handing him over to the system. A healthy white newborn had excellent chances of being adopted quickly, but it wasn’t going to be seamless.

For the first time, Sam wondered about the effects of Gadreel’s grace not in terms of inhuman powers or life support, but how soothing it was and what its lack could cause.

“Sam?“

Sam blinked, pulled out of his reverie. He realized he’d stood there too long, Bobby’s breaths and flailing becoming frantic, his lips no longer as rosy as they should be. He hurried to hand him over to Gadreel, relieved when Gadreel cupped Bobby’s head and the baby’s gasps slowed down, replaced immediately by a few hearty wails, the complaint for the discomfort he caused.

He grimaced as his heart clenched.

“Sorry,“ he said, even though the boy couldn’t understand him. He let Gadreel focus on steadying him while he made a short work of unwrapping him from the towel and putting a diaper on. Getting him into a onesie took longer: no matter how many times he did it, Bobby still seemed to have joints in the most inopportune places and a severe aversion to letting him slip the long sleeves on. Only that this time, he wasn’t just holding his elbows cocked with strength such a tiny baby shouldn’t possess, he started crying again, too. Sam glanced at Gadreel, but the angel was humming at Bobby, fully occupied but not worried. Sam took it as a sign he can proceed, even though it made Bobby less than happy and Sam cringe. This had been Sam’s win in exchange for giving up on the supplemental oxygen, though, so he wasn’t about to give up. Skin to skin was nice, but clothes did help in keeping Bobby warm beyond the points of contact.

The tiny hat finishing the outfit was more of the same, with the added bonus of helping keep the infant’s face free for fresh air, unlike swaddling him in plaid. Slipping it on was also more nerve-wracking than putting him into the onesie, because Sam needed to get it onto his head, push against the weak neck, and he was always afraid he’d hit the wrong angle, or use too much force, and hurt him.

He let out a deep breath when he was done. Bobby’s cries quickly tapered off to less upset complaints, just so his carers knew nothing was forgiven yet.

Sam couldn’t help but smile as he tucked a blanket around the baby, even though he kept it to himself.

“Need me to go prepare a bottle?“ he asked.

Gadreel took a moment to reply.

“I think so. Not much, he’s exhausted, but-“

Sam, who already got up, stopped before he turned to go, waiting for the rest of the sentence. Gadreel met his eyes.

“He should get used to getting comfort from more than grace.“

Sam froze momentarily, because it was too similar to his own thoughts from earlier. But Gadreel wasn’t stupid. Even if he did read his thoughts somehow, he wouldn’t let on he did. Sam forced himself to relax and nod.

“Yeah.“

Bobby snuffled and whimpered, then let out a tentative hungry cry, reminding Sam to hurry.

Sam did.

 

“We have a hunt,“ Dean opened this time, making a beeline for the coffeemaker. Neither of them functioned well without coffee in the morning. Sam gave himself a moment to be relieved it’s nothing about the baby for a change, then frowned.

“What is it?“

“Garth says something ate one of his pack. He’s asking for help.“

“Something ate a werewolf?“

“That’s what Garth says. Didn’t leave much of him, too.“

“Huh.“ Sam stared into his own mug, then drained it in an attempt to restart his thoughts. There was something niggling at him. “I’ll look into what it could be.“

Dean nodded.

“We’re leaving in an hour.“

Sam finally realized what was trying to get his attention.

“We’ll need to leave Gadreel in the Bunker. Alone. You’re fine with that?“

Dean’s shrug came with barely enough of a delay that Sam didn’t feel weird for asking.

“Guess he has enough on his plate to keep himself out of trouble. Think he can manage on his own, or do you need to stay?“

Sam considered him for a moment, mostly marveling at Dean’s matter-of-fact attitude. He sounded a little taken aback by the possibility, but there was nothing sharp or brittle about his gaze or his posture or the way he held his mug, even though he clutched it like a lifeline. He didn’t have to like driving off alone, but they were responsible for Bobby at least as much as they needed to go help out Garth. Sam felt a little bad for expecting anything less from his brother.

“I’ll ask him, but I think it will be fine.“

 

It was fine, eventually. After a quick brainstorming, they installed makeshift cradles in the kitchen and in the bathroom nearest to Gadreel’s room for any two-handed tasks that might come his way, so that he could keep Bobby within reach. Sam tried his best not to feel redundant once they did, and resolutely refused to think about why he wanted to be needed. Luckily, they already had enough formula and diapers in stock to last a few weeks, so they didn’t need to make a shopping trip before they could leave and managed everything with less than an hour of delay.

Gadreel insisted on seeing them off, Bobby asleep in his arms.

Sam got into the Impala only reluctantly, looking back longer than he probably should.

It had nothing to do with not trusting Gadreel in their home.

Sam expected Dean to rib him for it, but somehow it never came.

 

It didn’t get easier with distance. Sam thought he showed remarkable restraint when he managed to wait until evening to send a simple text,

_Everything ok?_

Gadreel’s answer came fast and was even more restrained:

_Yes._

However, a little later, just as they worked their way through food and coffee at a diner before another leg of the journey, Sam received another message. He scrunched his eyebrows over it, then glanced at Dean who had put down his own cell a moment ago, freeing both hands for his burger. Up until now Sam had thought he’d checked in with Garth.

“Gadreel says ‘Thank you both for asking.’“

He knew his brother too well not to notice the tiny flinch, or the faint blush that followed.

“Freaking angels,“ Dean muttered into his plate.

Sam carefully hid his amusement, but he suspected Dean saw it anyway.

 

Sam checked in with Gadreel every one of the thirteen days they ended up being away. After the third day, Gadreel took it upon himself to report first. His messages tended to be short and vague, but Sam didn’t feel like pushing. Much.

_Do you think you can handle a bath?_

_Not yet. In a few more days. Bobby is getting stronger._

_Of course he is._

There was a pause long enough that Sam assumed the conversation was over, until he received another message.

_I’m sorry. I can’t tell whether it was ironic or genuine._

Sam shook his head and typed a swift reply.

_Genuine. You’re taking good care of him._

Apparently it was better to risk sounding condescending with the angel than not being understood at all. His phone dinged with a reply almost right away.

_Thank you._

It almost made him smile.

 

_We should’ve left you books to read. Are you doing anything besides taking care of Bobby?_

Sam wrote another day after Gadreel checked in.

He hadn’t until they left for the hunt, now that Sam thought about it, but that was because Bobby had demanded Gadreel’s full focus. The less attention Bobby needed from him, the more likely it was that the angel would get bored. To Sam’s own surprise, he was less worried about Gadreel getting into the Bunker’s secrets and more concerned for the angel himself.

His phone dinged.

_No. I promise._

Sam sighed.

 _Not why I asked,_ he typed but didn’t send, unsure of what to offer the angel. The few paperbacks he hadn’t dragged with him to the hunt out of habit were in his room, which was angel-proofed ever since Gadreel regained consciousness months ago. He wouldn’t have been comfortable with inviting him there to pick one even if it wasn’t. Maybe sending him to the library, letting him borrow some of the books he already knew from his time inside Sam would do no harm.

_There are blank notepads and spare pencils in the drawer of the first table on the right when you come to the library from the outside,_ he sent instead. _You could write or draw something if you’re bored._

Gadreel mulled it over for a while, or maybe Bobby woke up and Gadreel needed both hands elsewhere, but a reply eventually came.

_I’m not bored. Is there anything you need me to write or draw?_

Sam frowned. It should have begun to annoy him long ago, he thought, that mellow unobtrusiveness Gadreel had adopted with them once he started to recover. But he had been too busy distrusting it at first, and then he took it for a sign of repentance and didn’t look any further. He was ready to accept Gadreel on a more equal footing now but Gadreel refused to meet him there, and that threw his behavior into much sharper relief. Gadreel didn’t act like a prisoner; Gadreel as a prisoner was a cornered animal biting into any soft spot he could find in the expectation of pain. No, he was acting like a servant, quietly helpful and meek, and suddenly it set Sam’s teeth on edge.

 _No,_ he typed. Stared at the screen for a while, then hit Send because it was a conversation he didn’t know how to have over texts.

He thought that finished the exchange, but not long after, there was another alert.

_I’m an angel, Sam. It is enough to be like this. I know you have no reason to trust my word, but I won’t trespass. I have all I need._

And that he could picture: Gadreel immersed in his task, cradling the fragile human body to his chest, monitoring heartbeat and breath and the flow of blood through organs that could fail without his care. For all Sam knew, maybe he didn’t take his reward in Bobby’s squirming and reflexive twitches of a smile, but directly in the life humming and budding under his hands. A gardener rather than a parent.

Gadreel’s attitude was still too subservient for Sam’s liking, but angelic patience was a better explanation than Gadreel crawling the walls in boredom, trying not to be a bother.

The talk really could wait.

_Okay. Good night._

_Good night, Sam._

Maybe it wasn’t much on the great scale of things, but the exchange of pleasantries felt nice.

 

Riding home from the hunt, sprawled in the shotgun seat as much as the good old car allowed while it ate mile after mile under Dean’s careful guidance, Sam was hit by the sudden realization that he’s really going _home_. Not just a steady base where he’d allowed himself to settle enough to leave his less prized possessions there whenever he left; not just a place with hot showers and a clean bed and a wealth of knowledge he’d hardly scratched the surface of, but an actual home where somebody was waiting for them.

He shied away from the thought, but the ride was long enough that he returned to it like to a sore tooth, again and again. Gadreel and Bobby-

No. If anything, his home was the Impala, Dean’s solid presence and Dean’s music beating in his blood.

The hushed gentleness of the air while a baby slept-

No. A stop at a diner was more familiar, foods the same as everywhere else, Dean smirking over the number on his napkin. That was a scene comfortable like a well-worn jacket, not-

Gadreel’s smile, small and genuine and turned on him by accident.

Sam took the whole unwanted monster of a thought, shoved it to the back of his mind, put a lid on it, barred it and threw away the key. All that and it still leaked out as excitement tingling at the back of his neck for the whole last leg of the journey. Then they opened the door and heard voices floating up to them from the kitchen, and it turned out Cas stopped by and was sharing tea with Gadreel as if either of them needed it. Gadreel sat in a chair in a position that couldn’t be comfortable, ass at the edge of the seat and the backrest digging into his shoulderblades so that Bobby could rest safely on his shoulder.

Cas gave them a quick hello, easy as could be, and went back to telling Gadreel something about Claire.

That was when it came flooding back, and there was no denying it anymore.

Home was people more than a place. Home was people waiting for you at a place, keeping it warm and lived in.

Bobby squirmed and burped so loud it startled him into a crying fit, and Gadreel smiled and murmured to him and patted him on the back until he calmed down and dozed off.

Dean was Sam’s home. Cas as well.

Bobby and Gadreel were Sam’s home, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be just a quick “I’m not dead“ fic. Nearly three months later...  
> I have about 4k more written of this and I’m nearing the end, so I guess it will cap at 15k or so.
> 
> Comments, thoughts, constructive criticism not only welcome but outright craved as always, but most important of all, enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

Cas didn’t stay long. He never did. It was half a miracle that he even stopped by simply to catch up, without some catastrophe or another brewing on the horizon. He seemed tired, which he always was, and possibly grateful for company less demanding than the flock of his siblings in Heaven.

The Host was learning to function without the guidance of the archangels. It was messier than the dissolution of the USSR. They were past the Yugoslavia Civil Wars stage, maybe, but that didn’t make it easy, and there was always something to drag Cas right back into the middle of it whenever he managed to step aside for a little while.

Sometimes Sam liked to lie to himself that it will get better during his lifetime.

Gadreel sent his greetings to Hannah, the only other angel besides Cas who knew he was alive.

Cas dragged his feet on the exit enough that Sam got a quick hug in and a reminder to visit again. He got a solemn nod in return.

“What he said,“ Dean confirmed, voice heavy, hands in the pockets of his jeans. For a moment, Sam thought he would hug Cas, too. Or maybe Cas would hug him. Neither happened, the air charged between the two of them as if showing a little bit of physical affection could break and remake them. Sam just wished they’d get on with it.

It was another wish he suspected he’d never get.

 

Sam went back to preparing the formula for Bobby and helping with the baths, even though Gadreel had managed fine without him. Bobby needed more, now. More milk in every portion. More portions. Gadreel was letting him come out of the near-stasis he’d kept him in. Bobby’s eyes were still unfocused, but that didn’t stop him from gazing at Gadreel as if he was the only thing worth seeing in the whole existence.

“You know we can’t keep him, right?“ It was less a question and more a firm reminder to himself.

Gadreel looked him in the eye.

“Of course.“

He was perfectly calm and serene, as if the way Bobby curled up on him with complete trust meant nothing.

Sam hated him for it in that moment, even though it was what he’d needed to hear and Gadreel remained so gentle with Bobby it ached.

 

Time kept running out, faster and faster. Sam took to spending every possible moment with Bobby. Dean took to avoiding him. Bobby took on ounces and inches like the fairytale bean stalk, no longer dwarfed by his onesies. Gadreel began to let Sam feed him sometimes, long minutes passing before he felt the need to brush gentle fingertips against the infant’s silk-soft cheek to check on him.

Sam measured him, weighed him, and didn’t mention it when Bobby neared the weight and height and head circumference of a healthy newborn. Nobody asked him, either.

Then Bobby fell asleep on him, snuggled in his arms, breaths light and easy, and Sam found out that his capacity for denial was at its end.

“Gadreel.“ He felt a little like dying. “Gadreel, I think it’s time.“

Gadreel’s hands twitched in his lap. His shoulders hunched almost imperceptibly, but the hard line of his shin remained pressed against Sam’s lower back where Sam sat down on his bed, and if he felt regret, Sam couldn’t read it.

“I know.“

 

Dean refused to drive Bobby anywhere without a car seat. He promised to get a second-hand one they could buy cheap. Somehow it took him three weeks to have it delivered to the post office in Lebanon. Two more days to pick it up and practise installing it, even though it came with instructions.

Sam didn’t call him out on it. He didn’t want to be ready, either.

 

The day they decided to drop Bobby off dawned bright and warm after a rainy night, a beautiful summer day in sharp contrast with Sam’s mood. None of them felt like talking when Gadreel emerged from the Bunker with recently fed Bobby carried in his car seat and a backpack with all of Bobby’s things they intended to leave with him. The infant kept squirming, occasionally letting out a half-hearted cry that tore at Sam’s heartstrings. It made Dean go through securing him in the backseat of the Impala extra fast, eager to get it over with. Gadreel slipped in to sit next to him, exuding calm determination. He gave Bobby a finger to grasp and talked to him in hushed tones while the Impala purred to life and eased from its usual parking spot.

The ride was torturously long, even though Bobby fell asleep five minutes in. Dean kept a sedate pace, leading the car so smoothly that two champagne flutes put in the trunk wouldn’t clink together.

Sam did his best to occupy himself with the practical side of things. They chose a big hospital with a well-equipped neonatal ward with a great reputation, but they weren’t going to leave Bobby there directly. Just one floor down from the ward were the offices of various other specialists. Surely at least one of them will be backlogged, with several people in the waiting room. Sam and Gadreel will walk in, settle down, then leave. Even if Bobby sleeps through, hopefully somebody will get curious enough about the car seat to notice the simple “BOBBY. FOR ADOPTION“ card they will arrange on him, and alert somebody. Gadreel will make sure there are no fingerprints or DNA to track them by, just in case. Apparently watching over a baby’s breathing for months on end did wonders for the control he had over his powers. What they could do nothing about was any delay between Bobby’s discovery and adoption. There will probably be one: Bobby’s bellybutton was fully healed, it will be clear at a cursory glance that he was born either significantly premature or underweight. There will be questions.

Out of everything, the knowledge that Bobby will spend at least several days at the hospital before he’s even placed in emergency foster care sat with Sam the worst, but there was nothing he could do against it. Nothing realistic, at least.

If his life was a romcom instead of a horror, they would decide at the last moment to keep him. In a romantic comedy, it wouldn’t matter that with their lifestyle they couldn’t take care of a dog, much less a baby. It wouldn’t matter that the three of them had enough issues between them to employ several psychologists for life, if only they had more than a secret bunker, a car, and a couple of false credit cards to their name. Love and Bobby’s cuteness would conquer all, who cares that a baby would grow up into a boy with needs beyond cuddles and a bottle of milk. Letting him go still felt like the worst kind of betrayal, but keeping him would be another.

Ever since they took him in – no, ever since Gadreel found Bobby dying with his mother – it was a matter of lesser evils. A series of choices they couldn’t win, could only try not to lose too badly.

Sam only hoped they chose correctly each time. For Bobby, if not for themselves.

It was a four hour drive to Omaha, not counting stops for gas and breaks to feed and change Bobby. Sam let Gadreel handle everything. He already felt like he got too little oxygen past his throat without looking at Bobby directly. He couldn’t take him in his arms and hold it together.

He had to hold it together. A few more hours. Then he can let himself break down in the privacy of his own room, and then life will go on.

He shouldn’t have let himself get so attached. But then, similarly to the name, loving Bobby wholeheartedly for the short time they had together seemed to be one of the only gifts he could give him. One that would, hopefully, stay with him in some way. The next weeks were going to be tough, but he’d handled worse for the right cause. He couldn’t regret it.

By the time they stopped in the parking lot of the hospital, he was mostly numb, emotions packed tight and shoved deep where they couldn’t interfere except for a low buzzing under his skin, the desire for it to be over. They all got out of the car. Gadreel, already with the backpack on, walked around the rear to get the car seat. He jostled it a little as he was getting it out. Bobby smacked his lips a few times, peered up at them from beneath heavy eyelids and slept on, heartbreakingly trusting.

Gadreel, the only one of them who’d remained utterly calm through the whole ride, planted his feet, squared his shoulders and told them, “Thank you. I’ll take it from here.“

Sam froze.

Dean rounded the nose of the car and stopped by Sam’s side. Sam could feel the tension rising in him. Dean didn’t like last minute changes he didn’t make himself.

“Not what we agreed.“

“I know.“ Gadreel shifted a little, then resettled into that quietly defiant stance, his knuckles going white on the handle of the car seat. “I know you think I’m not fit to raise Bobby. And I know the depth of your convictions. If you feel you have to hunt me for this, I understand. But I am taking Bobby, and I will defend us no matter the cost. I’m sorry. I know I owe you more than I can say. I was ready to defer to you, but I can’t. Not in this. I’ve accepted responsibility for him the moment I took him out of his mother’s body. I won’t abandon him. I won’t fail as a guardian again.“

“Sonovagun,“ Dean breathed. “How long have you planned this?“

Gadreel gave him a small respectful nod, accepting the assumption.

“Since shortly after Castiel’s visit.“

Because of course it wasn’t a last minute decision. Sam could see the plan: stay in the Bunker as long as allowed, then convince them to take all of Bobby’s things with them to “donate”. Confront them in a busy parking lot where they couldn’t afford to make a scene. How many buses left Omaha in any given hour, in how many directions?

“You never said anything,“ he protested, feeling a weird mix of- He could unpack that later. He needed to keep his focus on Bobby.

“You made your stance very clear. I know better than to try and convince a Winchester.“

Okay, there was hurt. He could admit as much. He was hurt that Gadreel didn’t even trust them enough to argue his case until he was ready to make his move.

“But that is what you’re doing right now, isn’t it?“ Dean threw back. He was frowning, but to Sam’s surprise, it was more thoughtful than angry. “You could’ve stolen a car from the garage at any point in the last few days. Get a couple of hours of headstart.“

“I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m going against your wishes again. The least I owe you is honesty. I know you care for Bobby, too. I-“ A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I wanted the chance to tell you I’ll do everything to keep him from harm.“

“Except you want to raise him on the run,“ Dean pointed out, a corner of his mouth downturned and eyes sharp.

Gadreel’s shoulders hitched towards his ears, just a fraction. Sam took the opening, making his voice as soft as it would go.

“Gadreel. I know you want to keep him. I get it, believe me, I do. But he’s not your second chance. He’s a child. You need to think about him. About whether you can give him the kind of life he deserves.“

Gadreel flinched, nostrils flaring. For a second Sam could swear he looked repulsed before it shifted back to determined.

“I’ve heard that reasoning before,“ he told him, oddly gentle. “From Lucifer.“

It was Sam’s turn to flinch. It didn’t make Gadreel pull his punches, even though he seemed regretful about it. How he managed to look genuinely compassionate while words fell out of his mouth steely and sharp like knives, Sam didn’t know, but the effect was devastating.

“I was to think of humanity’s right to reach its full potential. Not safety, but the chance to grow. Not my God-given duty to protect them, but the command to serve them to the best of my ability. I was to keep in mind their best interests, not mine. Trust in them, take the leap of faith. Let Lucifer help them. Never again.“ He took a deep breath, and finally softened a little. “You are a good man, Sam Winchester, one of the best. I know you want to protect Bobby from your failures and mine, imagined and otherwise. I know you want to give him the best life you can. But he came into my hands. He is my responsibility. I will never again shirk my responsibility for a supposedly greater good. Not even for you, as much as I love you.“

Sam felt those final words like a hammer blow, reverberating across his soul. Dean next to him outright gaped, momentarily speechless. Gadreel used their shock to press on.

“If you can, let us go. Let me build a small life somewhere, the kind Bobby’s mother dreamed of. Let me have my middle ground. Do the best for him I can.“

“Your middle ground,“ Sam repeated, hanging onto the reference, playing for time to recover. “There’s something more you want.“

He only hoped the answer wouldn’t be “you”. He couldn’t handle that right now. Gadreel, though, simply looked sad and very old. Still stubborn as a mule, though.

“Of course. I know less about humanity than I’d like, and even less about children. I was hoping you’d change your mind, help me raise him. But I will have to be enough.“ He shrugged. “I will learn.“

Sam glanced at Dean, because right then he really missed his ability to make a decision on the fly for the both of them. But Dean raised his hands and took a half-step aside, distancing himself.

“Don’t look at me. It was you who insisted we can’t.“

“What?“

Dean shrugged instead of a reply, hands still held by his shoulders. He seemed to realize it about then, because he let them down. Sam was torn between yelling at him how impossible it would be to raise a child and a sudden, desperate, terrifying _hope_.

He wished he could distance himself from the situation for a while, find his footing. But it had cost so much to steel himself for leaving Bobby behind that he knew it would be over either way if he so much as suggested to find a diner and eat before they decide.

He looked down at Bobby, and the terror hit him in full. They had chips on their shoulders, all three of them. Gadreel needed to prove he is a trustworthy guardian. Dean needed to prove they’re a good enough family. Sam- Sam probably wanted to prove he could have had his normal life if Heaven and Hell didn’t get in the way. Bobby didn’t deserve to grow up with all that. They weren’t fit to be parents. And yet-

“Okay,” he said quietly.

Gadreel shifted. Dean squinted at him.

“Okay?“

“Yeah, okay. Let’s take him back home.“

Dean was looking at him in that awfully careful way as if he doubted Sam was real. Sam turned to Gadreel, who looked about ready to flee.

“I still think the best thing for Bobby would be adoption. But that isn’t an option anymore, is it? It’s either you, raising him alone while avoiding anyone who might figure out who you are, or us three, together, raising him in the safety of the Bunker.“ At least for a little while. The Bunker was no place for a curious toddler, but that could wait. “If that’s the choice I have, then I want him safe. I want him with us.“

Out of nowhere, his voice broke on the last sentence. He blinked, focusing on Gadreel’s tense frame. He could still bolt. He’s been betrayed too many times in the past; he’d betrayed them before. It was easy to trick people when they wanted to believe you, when you were offering them something they wanted. Gadreel knew that desperately, intimately well. He couldn’t run with Bobby in the car seat, but for all Sam knew, his wings may have healed and it was another thing he’d neglected to tell them.

“Gadreel, we aren’t enemies here.“ He took a breath with a sudden realization. “You aren’t a prisoner, it’s not on us to allow you to keep Bobby or take him from you. You are closer to being his parent than anybody else alive. If you say you aren’t giving him up, then all we can do is either help you, or turn you away. Let us help you.“

Gadreel still hesitated, looking as if he didn’t quite dare believe him yet. He shifted his focus on Dean, who lifted a shoulder in an aborted shrug.

“What he said. So don’t be an ass and get in the car. We’re going home.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: When I started this, I honestly didn’t know whether the gang will keep the kid or not. Fanfics always have the heroes keeping the child, which seems uncharitable towards regular adoptive families. So I just wrote and waited which arguments crop up and win. Well, here we are.
> 
> Yeah, I’m a total sap.
> 
>  
> 
> Oh. And nobody knows for sure, but the Impala probably has lap belts at least for some seats, even though the boys don’t seem to use them, ever. Therefore, it’s possible to properly install a rear-facing baby car seat there. Yay, security.
> 
> Filed under: Things I didn’t expect to need to know.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean kept casting Sam sideways glances the whole ride home. Sam resolutely stared out the window and pretended he hasn’t noticed. Just as resolutely, he never checked on Gadreel in the rearview mirror. That didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of every sound coming from the backseat, anxious to take in all the proof of Bobby’s presence he could. Bobby made it more than easy for him at first: he woke up just as Gadreel strapped him back in and refused to settle down for over an hour. Somehow he never worked himself up to a proper wail, though. Sam suspected that this time, Gadreel cheated a little, but he couldn’t find it in him to hold it against him.

He would be hard-pressed to hold anything against him right now.

It was stupid, unbelievably stupid and irresponsible to be anything other than petrified, but Bobby was coming home with them. Sam was finally allowed to love him without expecting to be separated from him, and the joy of it filled him like flood water and refused to fall.

He felt like grinning ear to ear, for the first time in forever.

It wouldn’t be wise in Dean’s company, but he still caught himself smiling whenever he forgot to keep himself in check.

They only stopped once on the way home, a testament to how fast Dean wanted to get there. That was when they ran into a problem they really should have expected: Bobby needed to have his diaper changed, Gadreel refused to let go of him, and they refused to let Gadreel walk out of their sight with him.

They all three of them tried to come up with some excuse, but neither got past more than a single sentence. The real issue was too obvious. So they stood there, stared at each other with perfect understanding and a lot of unfortunate distrust, and they would have stood there for a lot longer if Dean didn’t shake his head.

“Just change him on the backseat. They probably don’t even have a changing table here.“

“He might pee on the upholstery,“ Sam objected, because it wouldn’t be the first time Bobby showed them what a range and sense of timing he had.

“You’re a grown man, Sammy. Figure it out.“

Sam and Gadreel exchanged glances, distrust momentarily overcome by a common responsibility. The same way it was at the beginning with Bobby, Sam couldn’t help but notice.

“I can check if he needs to pee,“ Gadreel offered tentatively. “It’s not invasive.“

Dean left them to it and went to fill the Impala’s gas tank.

 

By the time they were back on the road, Sam came off the high enough to start to worry.

His worries were only confirmed when Gadreel hesitated once more, standing before the reinforced door to the Bunker.

“Gadreel? It’s okay. I promise.“

Dean took them in, then pointed to the door with a short nod of his head.

“Come on. You came all the way up here already, might as well come in. You want to leave later, we won’t hold you, but you know what? It would be a shitty thing to do. Do you think we’d fold so fast if we didn’t want the kid here?“

Gadreel’s only reply was a strange little smile as he glanced at Bobby. He was clutching the handle of the car seat again, feet planted as if he set down roots and didn’t know how to free himself.

“Maybe we could all get a motel for a few days,“ Sam suggested. He wasn’t looking forward to the constant hypervigilance if Gadreel took him up on the offer, but it was better than pressing the angel to go further than he wanted to risk. A cornered Gadreel was an unpredictable Gadreel. Sam was ready to do about anything to put him at ease, or at least as close to it as Gadreel ever was with them.

Which wasn’t much, as the recent events proved.

Gadreel shook his head once, his mouth downturned at the corners.

“No. That won’t be necessary.“

He still had the air of a convict facing the firing squad, but he managed to pull up one leg from whatever bog it was that held him down in his mind and make a first step forward. It got easier after that.

“Do you need help getting settled?“ Sam asked once they made their way to the library.

“No, thank you.“

“Okay. Leave the bottles in the kitchen, I’ll clean them and boil the water.“

Gadreel nodded and slipped from their sight.

Sam resisted the urge to follow him. The Bunker only had the one entrance, and they were standing between it and the bedrooms.

This was going to be difficult. If only it took a single heart-to-heart to clear out any doubt, Sam would go for it, even though he wasn’t as comfortable with words as Dean thought he was. It wasn’t going to be words to convince Gadreel he is safe.

“So.“

Sam flinched at the sound of Dean’s voice. As Dean no doubt knew he would. Sam glared at him to cover the slip up.

“Are we really raising the kid with him?“

Sam went cold. It was one thing that Gadreel feared he’d been tricked into coming back, where he was vulnerable. It was another thing for Dean to suggest the same.

“Looks like it. I really think it’s the best we can do now.“

Dean shrugged, not arguing the point.

“What he said back there. Did you know?“

The question was so incredibly vague Sam was tempted to pretend he didn’t understand. But he did, and it would be worse to have Dean spell it out. Or give up on asking, assuming Sam had kept another secret.

“No.“

Dean stared at him expectantly. As far as Sam was concerned, he could stare indefinitely.

“You okay?“ Dean finally asked.

Sam’s annoyance spiked – and then plummeted before he could voice it.

The Dean he knew didn’t like to show he cared. Not unless one of them was dying, at least.

The Dean he know probably wouldn’t even understand there was a reason to worry.

“Yes, Dean. I’m fine. I was surprised, but. I’m fine.“

“Okay. Good.“

There came the fidgeting, the vague “I should be elsewhere“ motions. Sam was almost curious enough to wait and see what Dean would come up with to break the tension. Almost.

“I need to go boil those bottles.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Sure, bitch.“

“Jerk,“ Sam replied, and this time he didn’t bother to hold back the grin.

 

Nothing changed, and everything did.

Dean didn’t spend all that much time with Bobby, but he focused on the practical issues, contacting Charlie and a few less pleasant acquaintances to get Gadreel and Bobby new identities. They all agreed their records and IDs had to withstand more than the usual cursory glance.

They didn’t agree on much else, starting with what kind of cot to get Bobby now that he didn’t have to sleep on Gadreel.

Dean wanted a portable one so they could take Bobby with them if they needed to move – to take him with them on a hunt, Sam understood, and that was reason enough for him to want the exact opposite. Meanwhile, Gadreel was content to continue as he was, or perhaps keep Bobby next to him in bed, since he didn’t need to sleep and there was no risk of accidentally crushing or smothering him.

Future loomed, uncertain. It had been easy when Bobby was utterly powerless to do anything but exist and all the arrangements around him were temporary. Now they had to plan for when he starts to move under his own power, rolling, crawling and generally getting into trouble. Also for the solid foods stage, which meant either frequent trips for fresh produce and even more frequent cooking, or lots and lots of tiny expensive jars of baby food.

At least one of them needed to get a job. Sam bet it wouldn’t be Gadreel.

Sam had wanted to live a normal life, once. Have a job, a home, a dog, perhaps children with the right person, and a car that wouldn’t be as special to him as the Impala, but it would be his to do with as he pleased.

Now that he had to get at least some of all that, he felt ambushed, scrambling to rearrange his life around a baby while figuring out how to keep the most, or at least the best, of what he’d had before.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. All the time he wished for normal, dealing with an unplanned baby wasn’t what he’d had in mind.

Neither was sorting things out with a co-parent.

A co-parent who was so uneasy about the arrangement that he took to keeping his door open at all times. It’s been almost a week and Gadreel still didn’t let Sam hold Bobby for feeding, as if afraid Sam would spring a trap on him the moment he couldn’t hold the baby hostage.

Handing Gadreel a bottle, seeing him hunch protectively around Bobby and tense when Sam sat on the edge of the bed by his legs like dozens of times before, Sam knew he was right.

“You know we aren’t your enemies anymore, right?“

It took Gadreel a moment to meet his gaze. And – this hasn’t changed, that bland, passive expression that was so easy to mistake for calm.

“Of course.“

“You didn’t think we’d listen to you, though. When you decided to keep Bobby.“

Gadreel drew Bobby a little closer. The motion was so tiny Sam wouldn’t spot it if he wasn’t watching for it.

He didn’t reply. Sam considered pushing, then decided to wait him out.

“You wanted to keep him, too,“ Gadreel finally spoke. “Yet you were convinced it’s not the right thing to do. Nothing I could say would have changed that.“

“It did, in the end,“ Sam pointed out, somewhat unfairly.

Gadreel hesitated, then nodded.

“My mistake.“

Sam squeezed his own knees instead of shaking the angel.

“You aren’t our prisoner, Gadreel. You can say what you mean.“

Gadreel’s silence was damning. Sam let out a frustrated breath.

“Gadreel, ever since we came back, you wouldn’t let me hold Bobby. Tell me why.“

He didn’t expect the small, tired smile Gadreel eventually gave him.

“Can I refuse?”

Outmaneuvered, Sam took a moment to regroup. The respectful thing to do would be to drop the issue. The respectful thing also wouldn’t solve anything.

“I don’t think you hate e for being willing to give him up. I think you expect us to turn on you the first chance we get.“

Gadreel watched him, unreadable. Then he gave another faint, pointed smile.

“I suppose you’re here to tell me I have nothing to fear.“

Sam stopped himself from sucking in a breath too sharply. The reminder that Gadreel tends to lash out when cornered was unpleasant, even if there was only a hint of it, but it was an in.

“I’m not going to take Bobby from you. I couldn’t leave him behind anymore. I barely made the trip the first time. I couldn’t do it again.“

“You could. You can do anything you deem necessary, no matter how much it costs you.“

The reason for Gadreel’s certainty twisted Sam’s stomach into knots.

“This isn’t Lucifer we’re talking about. Keeping Bobby won’t end the world. Gadreel, don’t do this to us. If we’re going to raise him, we need to be in it together. I swear you’re safe. I hated you more when I thought you were fine with letting him go than I did when you said no. Can you trust me?“

Gadreel bent over Bobby, who was chewing on the teat by now rather than sucking on it. Gadreel put aside the bottle and moved the whole bundle of a baby to his shoulder, patting his back.

“I’m here, am I not?”

“For Bobby’s sake. I’d like you to be here for yours.“

He held his breath, almost as startled by his own admission as Gadreel was. But it was true. God help him, it was true, as much as it snuck up on him.

“You are part of this,“ he continued before Gadreel could shoot him down. “I wouldn’t want to give you up any more than I want to give up Bobby.“

He let Gadreel search his gaze, even though he felt like he was turning scarlet. It was worth it for the way Gadreel’s distrust melted into wonder, then puzzlement.

“I don’t understand.“

“Understand what?“

“You tolerate me. You’ve forced yourself to. And perhaps I’ve earned that; I can only hope. But I know what you see when you look at me.“

“Don’t.“

Gadreel tensed at the sharp command but he didn’t startle, didn’t show a whiff of surprise or uncertainty as if he had expected the confrontation. As if he provoked it on purpose. Sam was about ready to give him what he wanted.

“Don’t ever tell me how I feel. You didn’t know me enough even when you possessed me. And I’m not afraid of you.“ Bobby squirmed on Gadreel’s shoulder but didn’t protest Sam’s tone, which was for the best. He didn’t have it in him to gentle it right now. “I haven’t forgotten. You don’t have to remind me, because I do remember, every day. And every day I choose to trust you because you’re right, you did earn that. It has nothing to do with me refusing to think about it, so stop trying to rile me up. You can get me angry. You can’t get me to turn on you.“

Gadreel watched him, giving nothing away. Sam would have liked some confirmation he was as spot on as he suspected he was, but it wasn’t coming. Neither was denial, though, so he had to be close enough.

“Gadreel. You do deserve a second chance. Look what you did with it. It’s beautiful.“

Gadreel looked down and away, but it took nothing from the warmth of his hold on Bobby.

“A third chance,“ he murmured.

Sam shrugged.

“It’s the one you took. I think this is you at your best. I think this is who you really are.“

“When I can afford to be, yes. What does it matter-“

Bobby burped, an incongruous sound in the grave conversation. Neither of them so much as cracked a smile, but Gadreel laid his cheek against the boy’s head for a moment, closed his eyes and patted his back a few more times, the gesture so amazingly human it stole Sam’s breath away.

“What does it matter,“ the angel continued, quieter, more wistful, “what I am when there’s no challenge? We both know what I am when my- when my kindness, my loyalty, my courage get tested.“

Sam turned to him more fully, rested a bent leg against his, denim to denim and warmth underneath, and took his time to consider his answer because Gadreel didn’t deserve anything less.

“You are here, aren’t you?“ he returned eventually, only to get a confused frown from Gadreel.

“You’ve admitted you were wrong. That takes courage. It doesn’t change what you’ve done, but-“ Sam shrugged. “You said it yourself. We’ve all made mistakes. I know what it’s like to scramble to save what you can. Knowing it will never be enough.“ Knowing it cost lives that will never come back. He couldn’t bring himself to say it, as if the words alone had the power to summon ghosts. Kevin. Ellen and Jo. So many anonymous people he couldn’t bring himself to care about beyond a vague sort of horror. Sam pressed on.

“Look, you’ve turned around. You helped Cas, no matter what it cost you. Then you took care of Bobby.“ He encompassed the scene in front of him with a gesture. “Then you faced us. Don’t tell me it was easy. Don’t tell me none of it tested your kindness, or your courage, or your integrity.“

Gadreel gave him a small, delayed but genuine smile.

“I’m surprised neither of you came after me with an angel blade for the betrayal.“

Sam hoped that was Gadreel practising the human art of exaggeration, because if he truly believed they’d kill him for keeping a baby he’d parented for months, there was nothing Sam could say to make it even remotely right.

“I wanted this.“ It was scary but liberating to admit. “I think Dean did, too. Possibly faster than I did, though he could hardly want it more.“

Gadreel’s expression softened, and it was- It was-

Sam let the silence stretch – and in that quiet expanse of time, he found the courage to face a little bit more of himself and the predicament he was in.

“About what you said in that parking lot-“

He trailed off, courage or not. Gadreel’s gaze skidded away from his, then returned with some of that angelic peacefulness he was so good at exuding at times.

“You owe me nothing. You don’t have to address it. I shouldn’t have said anything.“

The remark momentarily derailed Sam’s train of thought like a charge set on the tracks. It didn’t take him long to give in to curiosity.

“Why did you?“

He watched Gadreel search for the right words, then incline his head ruefully.

“Same old pride, I’m afraid. I’d just made a comparison I knew would hurt you. I needed you to understand that even though the argument was similar, you are nothing like Lucifer to me. I thought maybe it would matter to you.”

It was Sam’s turn to look away and gather his thoughts.

“It did,“ he conceded. He didn’t add it was mostly because he’d been so shocked he didn’t have the capacity to think about the comparison anymore.

Gadreel nodded as if it closed the conversation to his satisfaction, and that- That wasn’t what Sam wanted.

“What kind of love?“

It was as if only now he had Gadreel’s full attention. Something startled, something what he really wanted to see as hopeful.

Something not easily answered, apparently, which made him glad he asked. Gadreel let the drowsy Bobby slip into his arms and rocked him gently, filling the expectant silence with peace.

“A kind that makes you unique,“ he replied eventually. It wasn’t all there was, so Sam did his best to wait and listen.

“One that doesn’t hurt,“ Gadreel continued as if he was somewhat surprised by the fact. “Or at least both does and doesn’t.“

“I don’t understand.“

“We are creatures of love, of compassion, of servitude.“

Sam must have frowned, because Gadreel shook his head and continued before he could be interrupted, faster now, more urgent.

“I am. I’m a sentry. Not a leader like the archangels, and not a holy warrior like Castiel and so many of the lower ranks. I’m a protector.“

“A gardener,“ Sam added, more on a whim than anything else.

Gadreel smiled.

“I wasn’t. I was supposed to keep apart, to only ever stand guard. I think I’d very much like to take it up now.“

Sam looked at Bobby, fast asleep.

“I think you already did.“

Gadreel watched the boy for a few honeyed seconds.

“Loving him doesn’t hurt at all. I think that is the selfish reason for wanting to keep him.“ He looked up, expression strained. “The love of an angel should be universal. I find it hard lately. I’ve hurt so many, so irrevocably, that loving them, that loving the survivors I have scarred, burns me.“

Sam flinched and Gadreel swallowed, pressed on.

“I’ve hurt you, too. Yet you’ve shown me kindness. You let me close, you give me hope I might one day earn your forgiveness. You remind me that the sum of my mistakes is not all I am.“

“So, you’re grateful,“ Sam summed up, disappointed despite himself.

“Beyond grateful. But I also admire you. You truly are one of a kind, and beautiful beyond measure.“

Sam hasn’t blushed so hard in years.

“Don’t put me on a pedestal.“

Gadreel lifted an eyebrow.

“I’m not. Should I list your flaws to make you feel better?“

Sam huffed a surprised laugh at the abrupt slip from pathos to irreverence. Gadreel smiled a little, obviously pleased with himself.

The surge of warmth he felt at the sight helped clarify a few things to Sam, but unfortunately, it didn’t answer his original question.

Something must have showed in his expression, or it was maybe just that Gadreel did know him terrifyingly well. Gadreel tilted his head to catch his eyes, his own expression earnest and soft.

“I can’t promise you I feel any kind of love you could name or recognize,“ he said. “Though I think you might.“

Sam finally found the right question.

“What does it make you want to do?“

“Be close to you. Keep you company. But I also want you content and safe. I realize it might be impossible to have both.“

Sam shook his head, knowing it was possible. Miraculously, it was very much possible. Sometime in the past several months, watching Gadreel steadfastly care for another human being, he began to like the angel – and since that parking lot, since Gadreel stood his ground for the sake of his charge, he trusted him as well.

The thing about second chances was, sometimes they were deserved. Some people learned from their past. It didn’t make their mistakes less grave, but it did make them worth forgiving.

“I think I’d like to try. Though-“ He swallowed. He was a grown man, it shouldn’t be so hard to talk about sex. He was also a hunter, the past few years had taught him not to consider angels too pure for the real world. That didn’t mean they could enjoy physicality.

One thing was for sure, he’d love to beat around the bush, but Gadreel was already looking at him warily as if he expected to be rejected after all.

“I don’t know how close you want to get. Did you mean being in the same room, or. Did you mean anything up to sex. Or anything in between?“

“It’s important to you,“ Gadreel observed.

Sam huffed a small, embarrassed laugh.

“Yes. In a relationship. I don’t know if that’s anything you can experience, or would enjoy, so-“

Gadreel shrugged, the movement nearly imperceptible with Bobby in his arms.

“I don’t know, either. But I’m willing to try.“

Sam let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his shoulders sagging.

“For now, can I just- sit next to you?“

Gadreel nodded and very carefully scooted over on the bed. It made Bobby squirm and nearly wake, but he settled after Gadreel did. Sam moved over to sit, then lean next to Gadreel, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm. The warmth was nice. The faint, clean smell that came with another’s presence was as well.

It was like coming home.

The kiss, when it happened, was a question with the most obvious answer in the world. It left Sam buzzing with excitement for more and Gadreel smiling.

“I suppose,“ Gadreel allowed, “that we will need a cot for Bobby after all.“

Sam laughed. He pressed his nose to Gadreel’s temple and just breathed, after what felt like years.

Future loomed, but he was ready to tackle it and make it his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One horribly sappy ending, delivered.  
> I hope it was at least as nice to read as it was to write. I'd love to know what you think, good, bad or anything in between. :)


End file.
